Distractions
by Ninazadzia
Summary: After Tris survives the war and Tobias doesn't, she finds herself in need of a distraction. Peter Hayes offers to be just that. M for sex. Peter/Tris.
1. I've Gotten What I Wanted Now

_**Distractions**_

By Ninazadzia

* * *

Peter Hayes is a lot of things.

He's stubborn, malicious, conniving, and crude. I know this better than anyone else. For the better part of eight weeks, I was on the receiving end of most of his hatred. Yeah, he didn't like it at all when I went from being some twiggy girl from Abnegation to outranking in Dauntless. I thought I would be the next Edward; Peter wasn't above stabbing him and the eye, so why should I be any different?

"Malicious" doesn't quite cover it, when it comes to Peter.

Even then, he saved my life. So what if it was to repay a debt? I can't say he's pure evil. A truly evil person wouldn't have any debt to repay, or any guilt to feel. On top of that, (according to George Wu, at least), he asked Four for the memory serum. _Begged _him for it. "I want the serum because I'm sick of being this way, I'm sick of doing bad things and liking it and then wondering what's wrong with me. I want it to be over. I want to start again." That's what Peter said, word for word. An evil person wouldn't want to start over.

Tobias wouldn't give the serum to him. Instead, he forced it down Marcus' throat, and told Peter he needed to learn how to live with himself.

I'm standing on the rooftop of the apartment complex—it's my new home. It's where we all re-started, after peace was brought to the city. Only now, it seems like what little peace I'd managed to find had been shattered. Because four weeks ago (when Tobias was outside of the fence, helping escort civilians inside of the walls), he was killed. Shot in the head by some teenager. It was instantaneous, and it was painless, but that doesn't change the fact that he's dead.

The memory of him is enough to make my knuckles go white.

"Careful, Stiff. Wouldn't want to fall over the ledge."

Normally, Peter Hayes' voice would be enough to make my hair stand on end. But he's reached a point in his "detox" (as he calls it) where he's completely harmless now. The only bite he has left are a few stinging insults here and there.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, tiredly.

"Christina's looking for you. It's pizza night at her place—better you're with her than hanging over a railing. That could kill you, you know."

He says it so plainly. The words sound foreign, coming out of his mouth.

I laugh. "Christina talked to you. Really? You didn't bite her head off?"

I watch for any sign of anger (flushing skin, boiling blood, _something_) but I'm met with nothing more than an eye-roll. "You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you?"

I don't say anything for a minute. We both stand in place, the wind whipping around us on the rooftop, and wait for the other person to speak.

He's the one that breaks the silence. "I wasn't going to go to pizza night, if that's why you planned on staying up here."

"I wouldn't care if you went."

"Okay. So what gives?"

"What do you mean?"

"You love Christina. I wouldn't be surprised if you two were secretly lesbian for each other, or some shit—why are you avoiding her?"

I feel my face flush. "I'm not avoiding her, asshole. I just don't feel like talking to people right now."

A small smile curls up on his face. "Well, alright."

And with that, he walks forward, until he's next to me and leaning over the railing.

I groan. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making you talk to 'people.'"

"But you're not people. You're just some simple-minded jerk that I wouldn't talk to anyway."

"Gee, Stiff, always so _empathetic."_ He sarcastically clutches his chest. "You're hurting my newly awakened, beating heart."

I roll my eyes. Peter has been in a therapy program for the last few months; after he tried to snatch the memory serum, Tobias made a point of calling him a coward. "If you were really brave, you wouldn't run from who you are. You wouldn't try to forget. You'd _change. _So man up, and find a reason to change." So everyone's surprise, not only has he stayed in Chicago, but he's also made a point to try and 'recover.' Since Peter was never good to begin with I don't really see how it can be considered 'recovering,' but I guess that's a minor detail.

To say he's in the "early stages" is a definite understatement.

Even then, I don't hate him. And I'm definitely not scared of him, not anymore.

"Stop thinking about it," he says, finally.

I look over. "Stop thinking about what?"

"Four," he goes. A small smile crosses his face. I can't tell if it's meant to be mean or encouraging. "You're up here, stuck inside of your head, thinking about your dead boyfriend. It's not good for you, Stiff."

"Gee, Peter, always so _empathetic_," I parrot.

"You know that I'm right."

"Since _when _do you care about my well-being, exactly?"

He picks at his cuticles, and looks to the railing. "They always talk about 'concern for others' at therapy. Sorry if I'm trying to practice good behavior."

"You could practice good behavior elsewhere," I say. It comes out much colder than I meant it to, and for the first time in my life, I feel bad about saying something mean to Peter Hayes.

"Hey," he goes. "Believe it or not, I'm actually trying here. It would've been a lot easier to take that serum, but your peach of a dead-ex-boyfriend didn't exactly give me that option, did he?"

"Because he knew that if you took it, nothing would change," I say. "You'd start over, and then what? You're still bad, Peter. There's still that part of you that makes you do awful things. Some stupid memory serum won't take that away from you. At least now you're actively realizing _why _you're such an asshole."

He jerks his head to the left. His striking green eyes stare into mine, and I realize that the only thing keeping us both from falling over the edge of this building is a metal railing.

"So you think there's hope for me, huh?" he goes.

I laugh. "I never said that."

"Yeah, you did. You think it's better that I didn't take the memory serum—that means, you think there's a way I can be fixed."

"Well, if that's what you believe, then sure—whatever helps you sleep at night." I look away from him, and out to the Chicago horizon. "I'll say this much—it's nice to know that you're starting to feel guilt."

"Guilt, huh?"

"Yeah. That's what this is, isn't it?" I motion back and forth, between him and myself. "You feel bad for terrorizing me, for almost killing me. And now this therapy shit has brainwashed you into trying to repent for it. So bravo, my friend, on this new milestone."

I hope it's enough, and honestly, it was just _almost _enough to get Peter Hayes to leave me alone. Because the truth is, there are a million things I could say about Peter, and there are a million different ways that I look at him now. But being around him and thinking about him is exhausting. As much as I think I have him figured out, he's become endlessly complicated to me, now that he's adopted this "nice-guy" philosophy.

It's in that moment that I realize just how much his therapy has changed him. Instead of throwing me an insult or storming off (like the Peter I knew would've), he laughs.

"C'mon, Stiff. Think a little more of me. We've saved each others' lives a few times in the past—and, yeah, maybe I do feel guilty for terrorizing you. But I think my debt's been repaid."

"So what is it, then?" I snap. "Why are you here?"

He shrugs. "I was bored. I knew you needed a distraction." He rolls up his sleeves; it's equal parts blustery and hot outside. "You do more sulking than talking nowadays, so I figured any human interaction would be good for you. Even if it's with someone you hate."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, c'mon," I go.

"Hmm?"

"Seriously?" I look at him. "You're not going to make me say it, are you?"

"What? That you don't hate me?" And then he does something that surprises me—he moves his hand on the railing, so his fingertips are touching mine. I jump the slightest, and he goes, "hey, easy there," as gently as he can. I look back from my hand to him. "Because, Tris, let me tell you something—I hated you. I really, _really _hated you. You already knew, obviously, but I really can't stress just how much I loathed your guts."

"And this is in the past tense?" I ask. "So, what changed?"

"What changed is that you saved my life. I went to therapy, you lost your boyfriend—"

"What, so you need a charity project, now?" I grumble.

He laughs. "You're not a charity project."

"Then what am I to you, huh? Why are you bothering?"

He sighs, and inches his hand so now his fingers are intertwined with mine. I resist the urge to recoil, and try to not to pay attention to how much my heart is suddenly pounding.

"You're asking the wrong question," he says. "It's not what you are to me, so much as what I am to you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"And what would that be?" I ask.

"Well, I guess that's up to you," he says, with a shrug. "We can keep pretending like we hate each other, even though we don't. I can be the annoying asshole in therapy, if you want. Or," he says, slowly, leaning in ever so slightly, "I can be your distraction."

He hangs there for a minute, and then pulls away. He releases my hand.

"That's up to you, though," he says throatily.

_Your distraction._

I mentally kick myself. How had I not realized it earlier? He knew what he was doing, he had the entire thing planned out the entire time. Lay the therapy thing on me, take advantage of the fact that I'm grieving for my ex boyfriend—it's all too obvious. While Peter isn't pure evil anymore, he is _definitely _not good. And in between this conversation, the hand shifting, him trying to sexually assault me all of those months ago and him pulling away my towel when we were in Dauntless . . .

It's obvious. _Too _obvious. And I was somehow completely blindsided.

I don't say anything for a minute. He lets me weigh my options. _So this is what therapy's done for you, huh?_ I think. It's made him appreciate the notion of consensual contact, yeah, but his conscience is still various degrees of fucked up.

I know what I could do, and I know what I should do—I should walk away. I should tell him, 'no,' and he would leave me alone.

But I don't. In between how much my heart is aching, how much my world is spinning, and how his face looks in the setting sun, I don't.

"Let's get out of here," I say.

* * *

And then we were kissing.

I live just down the hall from Christina, so we went to his room. We hadn't thought any of this out, obviously, but the second we closed that door behind us, it kind of just started. The kissing. The furious, guilty, impassioned kissing. He pushed me up against the wall, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. I ran my hands through his hair. We paused, and I took a minute to look at his eyes, his face, his body.

Of course I'd noticed that he was attractive before. His personality had always been enough reason for me to look away. But on this night and this room, Peter Hayes didn't have that personality; in fact, he didn't have any personality. He was a distraction. A free-floating, sexual thing, sent to satisfy only my most carnal desires.

Don't think. Don't think about Tobias. Just _do._

And so, we did.

It escalated pretty quickly, much more quickly then I was used to. I almost froze, thinking of how Tobias would touch me, after the war had ended. I used to wonder when my fear of sexual intimacy would leave—once the fighting was over and we had a chance to settle down, it didn't take long for us to explore that avenue. It was a natural, loving progression. Kissing became fondling, fondling became touching, and touching became sex. It was easy, it was simple, and (most importantly) it wasn't scary.

Except now, this isn't easy. Or simple. No amount of therapy in the world would change Peter's innately aggressive traits. He didn't gracefully tug at my shirt fabric, like Four would; it came off in one sloppy, uncoordinated swoop, because he was too busy simultaneously crushing his lips against mine. Considering the fact that he was my worst enemy up until about eight months ago, I should've been terrified, or at the very least uncomfortable.

Instead, I didn't hesitate. I grabbed at his belt buckle, tugged it off, and pushed him backwards onto his bed.

His back flopped against the mattress. "Got some fire in you, huh Stiff?"

"Don't call me that," I snapped. I leaned in, and crushed my lips against his. I straddled my legs across his waist, and reached over to take his shirt off. After I did, I stopped for a second. I looked at his exposed chest. It was paler than the one I was used to seeing, and it had freckles in the wrong places. But to say that he was attractive ws a definite understand.

He sat up, and pulled my mouth to his, "Fine. _Beatrice,"_ he muttered against my lips. I felt a shiver creep up my spine.

And then, I went off like a bomb.

I turned on my side and pulled him on top of me. I ran my fingers through his hair deliberately but roughly, and the only thing that I could think was, _more_. _I want more. _I didn't stop and wonder about the moral implications of what we were doing, or how we would feel the next morning, or what it would mean moving forward—I just wanted more.

"I want you," I said.

"I know you do."

"No. I mean I want you, _right now_."

"C'mon, Tris, we're just getting started—"

I clamped my hand over his mouth. "You said you could be my distraction, didn't you?" He nodded. I reached over, and pulled his boxers and pants down. I then didn't waste any time slipping down my own shorts and panties. I heard his breath hitch.

"Well, then," I said, holding his gaze._ "Distract me."_

As he took that first thrust inside of me, I couldn't help but notice his eyes. They were alive, but not with the murderous rage that I was used to seeing. They were alive with something else entirely—lust, maybe. Most likely. But there was something else, and something I couldn't quite place. Smugness? Possibly.

Longing?

And in that instant, Peter Hayes wasn't free-floating sexual object, meant to fulfill my most carnal desires. He wasn't my mortal enemy, who was often out to kill me. He wasn't some broken boy trying to mend his conscience. In that instant, Peter Hayes became my distraction. He became the best possible distraction, and for one simple reason.

I had a sneaking suspicion before, but now, I could tell.

If Peter Hayes wasn't already in love with me, then he was damn well on his way there.

* * *

_Whoa, well I never meant to brag_

_But I've gotten what I wanted now_

_Whoa, it was never my intention to brag_

_To steal it all away from you now_

_But God does it feel so good_

_'Cause I got him where I want him now_

_And if you could then you know you would_

_'Cause God it just feels so_

_It just feels so good_

**~Misery Business** by Paramore

* * *

**A/N: I don't think I could feasibly write a fic without relating it to some kind of song. In this case, Peter is Hayley Williams, and Tobias is the other girl—sorry, Theo :D**

**I'm partial to both Fourtris and Petris, but Spectacular Now has made me like Petris infinitely more (I love you, Miles Teller). I haven't seen ANY Petris smut in the archive, so I'm happy to contribute, even if it's in the most soft-core way possible.**

**Let's get some more Petris up in here, ya? For Aimme Finicky and Sutter Keely's sakes.**

**xx Nina**

**PS. Debating whether or not to make this a multi. Would you want me to continue this? Let me know!**


	2. I Know That We Were Made to Break

_Distractions_

By Ninazadzia

"Last night _didn't happen."_

I knew exactly what tone I was going for; stern, serious, and threatening. I wasn't playing games with this, and Peter needed to know that. I must've sounded a bit too intense, though, because even a half-awake, groggy Peter had the wherewithal to laugh.

"Running off already, huh?" He'd been asleep in his bed, at least up until my redressing awoke him. He sat up and pulled the sheets off of him. There wasn't a stitch of clothing on his body—it made my heart jump, but I tried to ignore it. "It's, like, one in the morning."

"Yeah, and I've missed half a dozen calls from Christina."

"So?"

I snort. "What, you really expected me to stay the night?"

"Kind of. It's too bad we fell asleep, earlier." He leaned a little closer to me, and a smirk played on his face. "I was really looking forward to round eight."

_Fucking hell. He kept track._ I resisted the urge to blush, because after our third or fourth orgasm, I refused to keep counting. Not even Tobias and I would go for that long or that hard. But Peter and I? It got raunchier with every passing round, and it got to a point where I was beyond caring. _Whatever,_ I'd figured. No shame.

And—as much as I hated to admit it—Peter was good. The kid knew what he was doing.

Except then, as I got myself ready to walk out of his room, I felt shame. I wasn't just sleeping with the enemy—I'd slept with the enemy _seven times over the course of five hours. _It was ridiculous, it was irresponsible, and (most importantly), there was _no _way that anyone could ever find out. Especially not Christina.

I snorted. "What? You really think that if I waltzed out of this room at seven AM tomorrow morning, no one notice?" I walked over to him, sat down on his mattress, and grabbed the back of his neck. I pulled my face right up against him. _"No one _can know about this. And if you tell anyone, I swear to God—"

"I'm not an idiot," he interrupted. His smirk only grew larger. "You'll never talk to me again, much less sleep with me."

And then he kissed me. You'd think that after screwing someone for an entire evening kissing them wouldn't do much, but that was the furthest thing from true. I felt exactly what I'd felt the minute we'd walked through his door last night; I felt like every vein in my body was on fire. I felt greedy, but most importantly, I felt _alive._

It was a nice change, given how dead I've felt the last few weeks.

"Believe me," he whispered as he pulled away, "I want you to keep sleeping with me."

His shifted his hand so it was positioned right between my legs. Even through two layers of fabric, it was almost enough to make me jump out of my skin.

_Two can play at that game, _I figured. So I reached forward and went right for his crotch. His breath hitched as I wrapped my hand around his member. I felt it harden in my grasp.

"Keep your mouth shut," I breathed, pulling away and letting go of him, "and I will."

I only had one thought as I left his room.

_You might be ridiculous and irresponsible, Tris. But this is what you want._

_ At least for right now._

* * *

The elation of the previous night wore off much, much faster than I'd wanted it to. I've worked at a self-defense clinic since the end of the war, where I teach young women how to defend themselves in the event that they're attacked. The second I walked into work that morning, I felt the crushing weight of _guilt. Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ I thought.

I spent fifty hours a week teaching girls how to _protect _themselves. Most of the people I worked with were former assault victims themselves; they were desperate not only to escape the trauma, but to prevent it from happening again. "I can relate," I'd tell them. It'd been a long process, but I was at a point where I realized that the only way the girls would feel comfortable sharing their experiences with me was if I'd shared my own experiences with them. "I was almost killed during my initiation ceremony. One of my good friends helped two other boys in my year attack me. They hurt me—one of them even touched me—but I got away. And I'm still here."

_So fucking ironic,_ I thought, bitterly. "Always go for the groin," I instructed Abby, my 8:15 trainee. I watched as she kicked the dummy, square where his balls would be. "Good. Do that again, except don't lock your knee . . ." _You're telling these girls how to fend off rapists—but you're sleeping with the same guy that groped you and almost threw you into a chasm._

_ He's changed,_ I tried to rationalize.

_But has he?_

"Was that better, Tris?"

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, Abby. Perfect."

I knew the answer to that question—yes, Peter Hayes had changed. Yes, he wasn't dangerous anymore. And, yes, he wasn't technically a rapist to begin with; he was just an asshole looking to humiliate me. And yeah, there was a point when his endgame _was _to kill me—but then again, there was also a point when_ my _endgame was to kill him. Hadn't I shot him, just weeks after that?

_We were square, _I realized. I laughed. _We were even. _Since when had I adopted Peter's world-view? It's look like I had, because that's how I was trying to make sense of this whole thing.

_He might've touched me, but I almost killed him. And then I saved him, and he saved me. He's going through personal shit right now, and I'm grieving over Tobias. _

_ It takes two people to have sex. This goes both ways, Beatrice._

In the back of my mind, thought, I realized what the flaw in the "eye for an eye" system was. While I wasn't positive, I had a pretty good idea of what Peter meant to me. He was an object, a distraction—he was someone I could fool around with. Until he wasn't, that was. Until he became the most fucking complicated thing in the world—

Oh, wait. That didn't start when we started screwing around. That started the second he landed himself in therapy.

And, as for what I meant to Peter? That was even more complicated.

* * *

"You called?"

The clinic had closed for the evening an hour earlier; I was the last employee left, and I was going at it with a punching bag. Sweat rolled down my shoulders, and dripped onto the mat. _Reminds me of my initiation, _I thought. I felt far removed from that girl; the physical exhaustion hadn't sent in yet, and I could see my muscles ripple as they made contact with the bag.

No, I wasn't weak anymore. Not in the slightest.

I turned around, and faced the voice. It came from Peter Hayes. I'd called him, and he'd come. "Swing by work at six," I'd said. "I want to talk to you."

And, true to his word, there he was. I had to gulp back the lump in my throat; his desk job didn't demand very formal attire, but in his faded jeans and white button down, he looked much cleaner than I did.

"You have two options," I started.

"Okay. Shoot."

"We can fool around first," I took off my punching gloves, "or I can just get right to the point."

"Oh." He smiled the slightest. "So, this is more than just a booty-call?"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't ever refer to me as a 'booty-call.' We both know I'm much more to you than that."

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow. "Says who?"

"Says me," I replied. I crossed my arms. We stood a good few yards apart. "Actually, you know what?" I stepped a little closer to him. "While we're on the topic, I guess I'll get straight to the point."

"Which is . . .?"

I paused. Over the course of the afternoon, I'd mulled over the millions of ways I could present this. I didn't mean to overthink it—but the alternative was thinking about what I always thought about, which was Tobias. And lately, any memory of him brought me nothing but dread. Especially after last night.

So, I chose to think about Peter Hayes.

"Are you in love with me, Peter?" I asked.

I said it so simply, so unceremoniously. And I knew immediately that that was the best possible way I could've done it. He gawked at me for a solid minute, unable to say anything.

"That's a loaded question, Stiff," he finally managed.

"That's not a no."

"But it's not a yes, either."

"It might as well be—"

"God, you really expect me to screw you when you're so sweaty?" he interrupted.

_Ugh, _I groaned internally. _Of course he would. Leave it to Peter to throw an insult and change the topic whenever things don't go his way._ I took in the sight of his flushed face, stony eyes, and crossed arms. I'd called him out—and he couldn't wrap his head around it. At least not yet.

I felt my blood boil a bit. "Stop evading the question—"

"Tell you what." He walked forward, and took my arm. I tried to shake him off at first, but it was to no avail. _Whatever, _I figured. He lead me outside of the clinic's main floor, and into the locker room. I didn't like being dragged anywhere—_especially _not by Peter—so I panicked for a split second. _He's not going to hurt me, _I told myself, trying to calm my nerves. I was flashing back to the night he almost threw me into the chasm; _that's not him anymore. He's different._

_And if he tries anything, I'll be the one who hurts him._

"Let's do some multitasking," he said. He let go of my arm, and stripped off his shirt. He walked forward, and pointed to one of the shower stalls.

"You're sweaty, and to be perfectly honest, I've never done it in the shower," he admitted. His smile made my heart race. "I'll answer your question, I promise." He unbuckled his jeans, and let them pool around his ankles. "But I pick option one: fool around, then we can get to the point."

I sighed, looking at his half-naked body. Was the guilt still there? No, not in the slightest. It'd been erased entirely, only to be replaced by the burning I felt in my heart. _Peter Hayes is very good at distracting me, _I mused. Because up until he'd walked into the clinic, all of my energy had been spent trying to ease the crushing weight of guilt I felt about _Tobias_. But it was gone now.

So I rolled my eyes, but let a smile spread across my face. I peeled off my sweat-soaked, black tank top. "Fine," I replied. I unclasped my bra. His eyes wandered to my bare chest, and then downwards. I took that as a cue to remove what little I had left on. I slid my shorts and thong down, until I was bare naked. "Whatever," I added, as casually as I possibly could.

He extended his hand. I took it.

And then, he had me backed up against the shower stall, kissing me furiously.

* * *

To say things were "steamier" and "soapier" this time around would be a definite understatement. We had a lot more condom-y issues in the shower, mostly because the damn thing kept sliding off. We started off with all of the serious intensity that we'd had during the previous night, but eventually, it lead to nothing but a big fit of laughter.

"We're so ridiculous," I said at one point.

It was true. Peter had just turned eighteen, and I'd be there in a few short months—in the last twenty-four hours, we'd really fulfilled the hypersexual teenage stereotype. (Which was weird, because it was something that never, _ever _would've applied to me before. At least not when I was with Tobias.)

I cut us off at seven PM. "I'm meeting Christina and Cara for dinner in thirty minutes," I told him. "We should probably stop."

"Right, right."

So we got out of the shower. We redressed relatively quickly, and as we bantered back and forth, I noticed something. Yeah, Peter was sarcastic, and yeah, he had a crude sense of humor—but he'd lost the asshole edge. (Most of it, at least.)

"Is Christina suspicious?" he'd asked.

"Not really." I pulled a clean pair on over my thighs. "But she's smart. If we're not careful, she'll figure us out soon enough."

"So you're scared of what she might say?"

"Peter, she hates your guts." I zipped my fly shut. "I'm scared of what she might _do._ If she knew what was going on between us, I wouldn't be surprised if she knifed you."

"So that's what girls do, huh—knife their friends' fuck buddies?"

I opened my mouth to defend Christina, but then stopped. Instead, I crossed my arms, turned and looked him square in the eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, funny that you call us 'fuck buddies.' Is that what I am to you?" I asked, pointedly. "Because you still haven't answered my question."

He tried to suppress his blushing, and it didn't work. But he didn't look away. He stared me in the eye, and didn't say anything for a minute.

I waited.

"Yes," he said.

I froze. "Yes what?" I asked.

"Oh, c'mon. The answer to your question is 'yes.' I admire your guts. I think you're hot and a good fuck, but I respect the hell out of you, especially after that episode in the Amity compound." He reached down, grabbed his bag, and broke eye contact. The moment was over. I tried my best to compose myself, but to be honest, I was still too stunned to do much of anything. "I define love in terms of admiration, attraction, and respect. So yeah, Tris, I'm in love with you."

I tried to think of a response, but nothing came to me.

He slung his bag over his shoulder. "You don't have to say anything," he offered.

"You really are from Candor, huh?" I managed.

He snorted. "Yeah, well. I can be. When I want to." He shifted his weight. "Sp. You have to go. Dinner and all."

I cleared my throat. "Right." He started to walk away, and then he stopped, turning around.

"Between you and me, I really don't give it a shit if I'm just a sex toy to you."

And then he left the room.

* * *

_I am fire gasoline,_

_Come pour yourself all over me_

_We'll let this place go down in flames only one more time_

_You kill the lights, I'll draw the blinds_

_Don't dull the sparkle in your eyes_

_I know that we were made to break_

_So what? I don't mind_

_-_**Stay the Night **by Zedd (feat. Paramore)

* * *

**A/N: Thank you guys SO much for all of the nice comments you left on the first chapter! This is most likely going to be a three or four chapter fic, so YAYYYY Petris! :D**

**Speaking of this deliciously gritty pairing, check out my Peter/Tris community, ya? I'd really appreciate it if you guys subscribed to it and recommended me some fics to add; Petris is such an underground pairing that there are so few fics out there about Peter and Tris as a romantic duo, but I really want to only add **_**quality**_** fanfics into that archive.**

**Let me know what you guys thought of the characterization in this! Was it kind of all-over-the-place? Had kind of a hard time pinning it down, not gonna lie :P**

**xx Nina**


	3. If You Love Somebody

_**Distractions**_

By Ninazadzia

* * *

Did Peter Hayes become my everything after that? No, of course not. Okay, so maybe I didn't have the greatest taste in men—but I had my priorities in order. I wasn't going to disappear into my "relationship." The weeks wore on, and it became so, _so _much easier to think about something other than Peter, or Tobias, or the fact that one of them was dead and I was fucking the other. Work filled my days, Christina and Caleb often filled my evenings, and Peter filled my nights.

"You could sleep over, you know," he said one night. He stroked my arm. "Isn't she away for the weekend?"

"She" was Christina. I shrugged. "Yeah," I managed. And to be completely honest, there'd been plenty of opportunities when I could've slept over, but I'd never taken any of them. And I knew why.

A nicer girl would've let him off easy, but I was going to be straight-up with him. "But spending the night would suggest that _this,"_ I pointed to him and myself, "is more than it actually is."

He rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I like you, Stiff. I wouldn't put up with this shit from anyone else."

I gulped back the lump in my throat. "Believe me, I know."

Neither of us said anything.

"So, are you staying?"

I sighed. I could say no. I could go home to an empty room, sleep in my own bed, wake up the next morning and tell myself that all of the time I spent with Peter meant nothing. But the more I slept with Peter, the more I doubted that we were "nothing." Maybe it was his confession, or the sex, or how the pain from Tobias' death was starting to fade . . . because for some reason, I was having a much harder time convincing myself that Peter was simply a distraction.

So I shrugged. "Whatever," I said. I nestled my head into his chest and curled up next to him.

I couldn't see in the darkness, but I could tell that he was smirking.

* * *

"So. How have you been?"

I set my down my coffee. Caleb was never much of a caffeine addict, but I loved the damn stuff. So instead of meeting in his apartment (which was all the way across town), I insisted on meeting my brother at my favorite coffee house.

"I'm good," I told him.

He offered me a smile, and dipped his steaming cup of tea in my direction. "You seem good," he said.

"Really?

"Yeah. You seem happy." He took a long sip, and then set his cup down. "Are you, Beatrice? Are things better now?"

He was referencing the weeks that I spent sulking around after Tobias' death— the low point I'd reached, how I'd shut everyone out. Etcetera.

"I'm not grieving anymore, if that's what you're asking," I told him.

He nodded. "I'm glad. I'm really happy that you're doing better."

I couldn't think of anything to say for a minute, so I just shifted uncomfortably on the cushioned coffee-house chair.

"What about you?" I asked. "How have you been?"

"I'm alright. Work's good, I'm doing well financially. There's . . . kind of something I wanted to tell you, though," he said, smiling.

I raised an eyebrow. "Shoot," I said.

What he did next was typical Caleb: he took a deep breath, paused for emphasis, and didn't open his mouth until I made some kind of gesture for him to do so. "I'm dating someone," he said, finally.

I started laughing. "Jesus, Caleb, is that why you've been in such a good mood lately?" I asked, shoving his arm. "Whoever she is, I need to start paying her."

"C'mon, she's my _girlfriend,_ not a prostitute." He ran a hand through his hair. "But yeah, I guess she's to blame for the constant elation."

"That's awesome." My heart skipped a beat. "Do I know her?" I asked.

"Does the name 'Katie Wells' sound familiar?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, not really."

"Well, she used to be part of Amity. She's our age." A smirk stretched across his face. "I'll have to introduce you two, sometime. She won't shut up about how cool it is that I'm related to you."

I laughed. I was famous as a result of the war. Well, as "famous" as you can be when you're a seventeen year old girl who accidentally had a fundamental role in the creation of modern society. It's not like I _asked _for everyone to know who I was, it's just how it worked out. And to be perfectly honest, I hated it. "You're shitting me—"

"Nah, she idolizes you. It's kind of weird."

"You better look out, kid, because that might be why she's with you," I replied.

"Using me to get to my sister. That's a new one," he said.

The banter continued like that. The laughing, the jokes, the light tone—it was nice, being around Caleb this way. It'd been months since he'd almost had me killed by Jeanine Matthews. I might not be the most forgiving person in the world, but Caleb and I have fixed our relationship substantially since then.

"Okay," he said, after a little while, "I should probably head out now. I'm seeing Katie in half an hour."

"Right, right."

"But before I do, I just wanted you to know—I know about you and Peter."

My heart dropped, and the coffee cup I was holding almost slipped between my fingers.

"I think it's really great that you guys have seen past your differences. He's over the moon to be with you, believe me—"

"What are you talking about?" I stammered.

"You're dating, aren't you?" he asked. "I mean, I work with the guy, and I see him walking to the clinic sometimes—and you've both been weirdly happy lately." He rolled his eyes, smirking. "For Christ's sake, Tris, it's kind of obvious."

I leaned back into my chair, letting the entire thing sink in. _Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no no._ We'd spent weeks worrying about _Christina _figuring us out, when we'd forgotten someone who was even more fundamental. Peter and Caleb were coworkers _and _good friends—and I was Caleb's sister. It was a complete oversight, and it turned out to be a dangerous one.

_Deny it. Right now._

"Caleb, you need to get off whatever you're smoking." I forced some laughter. "Peter and I can't stand each other, we haven't been in the same room in months. The fact that you think we're dating—"

"He already told me, Beatrice."

My heart sunk. "What—"

"Peter, he already told me about you two." Caleb shrugged. "I mean, I just asked him, one day . . . he didn't say no. He said that you'd just started dating." He looked up from his coffee cup. "Jesus, would you stop looking at me like that?"

My face must've been white as a sheet. _Act like it's not a big deal,_ I told myself. "You're right," I managed. "We're just trying to keep it quiet . . ."

_Peter, I'm _going _to kill you._

* * *

The next time I saw Peter was in broad daylight. He jogged around Lincoln Park in the mornings, so I knew exactly where to find him. To say that he was surprised to see me would be an understatement; we kept our interactions behind closed doors. We were cautious. But I guess there wasn't a need for caution anymore, now that the cat was out of the bag.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his face lighting up. He stopped his music, and walked over to me.

I didn't hesitate. I reached forward and slapped him, right across the face.

He glared at me, shocked, and an angry red mark blossomed across his right cheek. "What the _fuck—"_

"What the _hell _did you tell Caleb?"

"Tris—"

"He thinks that you're my _boyfriend_?" I seethed. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, let me explain—"

"I am _not _your girlfriend," I hissed at him.

"You think that I don't know that?" his voice rose (and only slightly), but to the point where other people were starting to look at us. He groaned, grabbed my arm, and pulled me alongside him. We walked into a more secluded part of the park, until we reached a wooden bench. I. He sat me down, and I crossed my arms, glaring at him.

"I know that I'm just a fuck buddy to you, okay? But I couldn't tell Caleb that, and that was what he asked."

I snorted. "I find it hard to believe that Caleb used the words 'fuck buddy'"—

"He asked me if we were _sleeping together_, and I told him no. He kept pressing, said he knew there was something going on between us, so I told him we were dating. Alright?"

My blood boiled. "You could've just flat-out _denied _it, Peter."

He groaned. "C'mon, your brother's brilliant—d'you honestly think that would've worked? I had to think fast, and I'm sorry, but that was the best I could come up with."

I leaned forward, and held my forehead in my hands. My head pounded, which signaled the onset of a very bad headache. So, that was it, then—the secret was out. Maybe not the full secret, but this was almost worse. I looked to Peter. He was trying to keep a blank expression, but I could read his face pretty easily. Frustration. Exhaustion. Longing. And I knew why his face showed those emotions.

He was hardly the boy I met during initiation. But there was still a part of him that was very, very much Candor.

"Why?" I asked him.

"Why what?"

"Why sleep with me if it's not what you really want?" I told him.

"Are you serious? It's the next best thing." He ran his hand through his hair. "I know that I'll never get what I _actually_ want, so yeah, I'm fine with what we have."

It was the answer I expected, but it still made my heart stop. Oh, I knew what he wanted—he wanted exactly what he'd told Caleb. A relationship. I real, full-blown, take-me-out-to-dinner-and-hold-my-hand-in-public relationship. Which was strange, and wrong, and complicated on _so _many different levels.

_But is it really?_

I knew I was being abrupt, but it came out of my mouth anyway.

"I have to go."

He stared at me. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I just . . . I need to get home." I stood up and started walking away, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Tris—"

"Peter, let _go of me_."

He looked me in the eye, and I held his gaze for a minute.

Frustration. Exhaustion. Longing.

I shook my head. I needed some time to think about this. And in order to do that, I needed a second opinion.

* * *

"I need to tell you something."

Christina looked over from her punching bag. Her shift had ended close to half an hour ago, but she always stayed late at the clinic to get some extra punches in. She worked the afternoons on the weekends, so that was when I spent a bulk of my time with Peter. Christina being busy meant that we could fool around, because our risk of being caught was next to none.

Funny. Funny how after all of the effort I put into keeping my relationship with Peter a secret, I was suddenly ready to out it myself.

"What's up?" she asked. She hadn't stopped—she just kept _whaling _on the punching bag. Every time her fist came into contact with the gigantic sack, my heart sunk a little deeper and deeper. I knew what Christina was capable of, both physically and emotionally.

_I'm dead,_ I thought.

"It's about Peter," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

"What about him?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. "Before I tell you anything, I need you to _promise _me that you'll keep an open mind."

She stopped with the punching bag, and turned to face me. She looked sweaty and tired, but also curious. "What's going on, Tris?" she asked, her voice low.

I looked her in the eye. _I can't do this, _I thought. There's no way. She might be my best friend, but there was no _way _that she would understand what I was about to tell her. Not unless I doctored the truth, at least a little.

_Work backwards, _I realized._ Don't drop the bomb just yet. Let her try and understand first._

"I've spent a lot of time with him, these last few weeks."

She laughed. "_Why? _I thought you two hated each other." She stepped off the mat, and walked towards me. "What, are you looking for a charity case or something?"

"No, he was—he actually came to me." I shifted my weight. "After Tobias died, he helped me get my mind off of things." _Not a total lie, _I thought.

She snorted. "Peter Hayes. Really? What'd he do, pile on the therapy bullshit and make you feel bad for him?"

I rolled my eyes. "He's changed—"

"Yeah, he's gone from a conceited asshole to a whiney bitch." She raised a brow. "Why Peter, Tris? What, like I haven't been there for you, too?"

I sighed. "Of course you have—"

"Then my friendship isn't enough?"

"This isn't about you and me, Christina, this is about me and Peter!"

She stared at me for a minute, stunned.

"What's going on with you two?" she asked, finally.

_I'm sleeping with him._

_No, don't say that. It's too soon._

"He's in love with me," I managed.

The room was dead silent. Christina looked at me, her mouth in an "o" shape. 'Surprise' didn't exactly describe her reaction—that wasn't strong enough of a word.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Something changed during the war. And he's changing now too, now that he's in therapy and he's trying to work out his issues."

Christina shook her head. "Peter doesn't love _anyone—"_

"Then why'd he risk his life to save mine, huh? Why'd he make all of those sexual cracks at me, during initiation?" I took a deep breath. This was my window of opportunity, and I had to take it. "He's convinced I don't feel the same way, Christina, and he's still sleeping with me. Why would he do that if he didn't—"

"Wait, _what?"_

"Well, when I said that we've spent a lot of time together, that's kind of what I meant—"

"Are you _insane?"_ Disgust. That was the best way to describe her expression. Complete and total disgust. "For fuck's sake, he tried to _kill you_! I get that you're upset about Tobias, but fucking the enemy is definitely _not _a healthy distraction—"

"_He stopped being my distraction."_

She glared at me. "What are you saying?"

I ran a hand through my hair, and took a minute to gather my words. In between all of the nights I spent with him, all of the bantering we did, and all of the control he gave me over our "relationship"—well, it was ludicrous, and I knew it. I had no reason for feeling the way I did, because there was no logical explanation for it. Peter Hayes was far from remarkable. He was good looking, yeah, but that was the end of it. He wasn't particularly kind, or endearing. He certainly wasn't boyfriend material.

But there was chemistry between us, and I just couldn't place it.

"I've been happy lately, right?" I asked. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it, and shut it quickly. "C'mon, Christina, be honest with me—I'm not sulking around over Tobias anymore, am I?"

"No—"

"Exactly." I crossed my arms. "Don't think that I went into this with anything but sex on my mind, because at first it was_ just_ sex."

"So what changed?" she demanded.

"He told me that he was in love with me." I sighed. "I just . . . I know who he is now. And he's not the guy you grew up with."

We stayed quiet for a minute. I thought of what I was saying, and I let the gears turn for a minute. I let the idea work its way through me.

"Are you saying," she started, slowly, "that you think you feel the same way?"

I nodded.

It was such a simple idea, but it had all of the weight in the world. I knew exactly what I'd just agreed to—I'd just agreed to the idea that I was in love in with Peter. That I felt something _more _for him than sex, that I wanted to _be _with him the way Caleb had suggested we were together.

It didn't make any sense. I'd spent all of this time convincing Peter that what we had (at least to me) was strictly physical. That he was my distraction, period, and for him to ever expect anything more was ridiculous. And, at the same time, that's what I tried to convince myself—there wasn't anything going on. No feelings.

Until there were.

"Do you think it's possible?" I asked. "To fall for someone, even after the hell they've put you through?"

She didn't say anything, for a minute.

"Your aptitude test came up part Erudite, right?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, but what—"

"I can't figure you out sometimes, Tris," she admitted. "You're as much of a mystery to me as you are to everyone around you. You know your own head better than I do—if you think you're in love with him, then I'm not going to tell you you're not."

I froze. It hadn't been the reaction that I was expecting—and that's what made it so terrifying.

"I mean, yeah, it doesn't make any sense—but did things make sense when you were with Tobias?" she asked.

I shook my head. He was my instructor, and I was his trainee—our relationship hadn't exactly been welcomed. "No," I said.

"Exactly—how do you explain these things?" she shook her head. "I don't get it, and I'm not going to pretend like I do—but chemistry doesn't make any sense. If he's not hurting you, then I'll do my job as your best friend, which is to warn you that I personally think he's a jerk and that you're making a big mistake—but if you want to, you should go right ahead."

I blinked. "Are you serious?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not your mom, Tris." She clapped me on the back. "You don't exactly need my approval." She jerked her head in the direction of the punching bag. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a date with that punching bag."

And like that—like our conversation had been the most casual thing in the world—she was back to her boxing. I stared at her, frozen, and let what she said replay in my head. Had I come for Christina's approval? No, I'd come for her opinion—and I'd gotten it. And now, I realized that _how_ I'd gone about my relationship with Peter was completely wrong.

He wasn't Tobias, but he wasn't my distraction. I couldn't explain what was between us—and I didn't have to.

So with that in mind, I ran out of the clinic. I took out my phone, and dialed his number.

"Hi," he answered, breathlessly.

"I'll be at your place in ten minutes."

"Tris—"

"I'll see you soon."

* * *

"_If you love somebody_

_Better tell them while they're here 'cause_

_They just may run away from you_

_You'll never know quite when, well_

_Then again it just depends on_

_How long of time is left for you_

_I've had the highest mountains_

_I've had the deepest rivers_

_You can have it all but life keeps moving_

_I take it in but don't look down_

_Cause I'm on top of the world . . ."_

~**On Top of the World **by Imagine Dragons

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! AP exams are busting my ass right now. (And by that I mean, haven't done shit about shit and I REAAAAAALLY should start studying, but the senioritis is so real now that I. Can't. Even.)**

**ANYWAY, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you thought :D**

***eyebrow wiggle* Review, ya?**

**xx Nina**


	4. Come On And Rescue Me

_**Distractions**_

By Ninazadzia

* * *

The second Peter opened the door, I noticed the open bottle.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat. He brought the bottle to his lips.

"You're drinking?" I hadn't meant for it to come out like a question, but it did.

"Eh." He held up his hand, and put his thumb and pointer finger close together. "A smidge."

"Why? You don't day drink."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He opened the door a little wider, stepped to the right, and motioned for me to come in. I walked into his apartment, stopping at the foot of his bed to take off my jacket. I sat down on the lumpy mattress, and felt myself sink into it. Memories of the nights we spent thrashing around in my bed flashed through my head—it was almost enough to turn me on. Almost.

Except that I was scared absolutely _shitless._

_ Fucking hell. How am I going to do this?_

He sighed. "I want to jump your bones right now," he stated, absently.

I was pleasantly caught off guard. Probably the alcohol talking, I figured. "Then do it," I replied, already reaching to take off my shirt.

"No, Tris, that's not what I meant—"

"Hey, if you want to right now, I'm down." I stood up, and walked over to him. I knew what I was doing—I was nervous (_way _more nervous than I should've been) to say what I needed to say. _Just tell him, Tris. It's not that hard. _And all the while, I second guessed myself, wondering if what I felt was real, wondering if it was just sex or a distraction or _something more._

_ Shut up, Tris. You know it is._

Even then, I resisted.

"We can talk later."

I leaned in and kissed him. It was much harder and fiercer than I meant to be, and while I could feel him practically melt into me, it wasn't the incredible reciprocation I was used to. "Hey—" he interrupted, but I forced my lips back onto his. I wanted so badly—so, _so _badly—to go back to what we'd once had. Carnal instinct. No feelings. Just sex.

"Tris—" he gently pushed me away, "Stop."

"Peter—"

"No, shut up. Just fucking listen to me." I froze; in between the alcohol on his breath and the tone of his voice, this couldn't be good.

He let out a huge, long sigh.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I don't fucking know, I don't even know how I'm going to say this . . . Jesus Christ, it's a good thing I'm not sober." I've been around Peter long enough to know that he's anxious when he rubs his head profusely. _Yep, he's doing a lot of that._ "I hate that I have to say this. I really fucking hate that I have to say it—"

"Then don't—"

"We can't do this anymore."

His voice was so defeated, so tired, that as I sat numbly it took me a minute to process it.

"What are you doing?" I asked again, slowly.

He reached for his bottle. Another drink. He walked forward, placing his hand on my shoulder. "I can't have sex with you anymore," he said. "I'm ending this. Right now."

"Peter—"

"No, stop. Don't argue. I'm . . ." he laughed, shaking his head. His hand dropped from my shoulder. Another drink. "Do you even _see me _right now?" As he threw his hands up, some whiskey from the opened bottle poured out. "The one time I do something that isn't completely selfish, I have to get fucking _hammered_. God, it's fucking ridiculous."

"What are you talking about—"

"_This isn't good for you, Tris."_ He motioned back and forth, between the two of us. "Don't get me wrong, I _love _this—I love _you,"_ he said, walking forward. He got so close to me that my hair stood on end. "But I'm fucked up. I'm fucking you up, and I can't do that anymore."

I shook my head. "Wait, Peter—"

"No, don't fight me on this. I swear to God, Tris, if I hear some bullshit about how you're so fucking grown up, or you just want to fuck around—"

"Let me say _something, _damnit!" I shouted.

My voice rung throughout his apartment. The only sound was the combination of our heavy breathing. I wordlessly stretched my hand out, grabbed the bottle from him, and brought it to my lips. The dark, bitter liquid warmed me up almost instantly. _This is it,_ I thought, _this is it. Might as well come out with it._

"You wanna know why I'm here?" I demanded. Before he had the chance to open his mouth to respond, I clamped my hand over it. "I'll tell you why I'm here. I'm not here to 'jump your bones,' _Peter._ I'm here because I figured something out, and now I need to tell you the truth."

I pulled my hand away from his mouth.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

I didn't say anything for a minute.

"This is real."

I expected a stunned reaction, but all I received was confusion. "What the hell are you saying?"

_"This—"_ I leaned in, and planted a kiss on his lips, "Is real."

He pulled away. In a matter of seconds, his green eyes had gone from exhausted to awake. "You mean—"

"I feel the same way." I ran finger along his jawline. Every touch felt like a thousand volts were being shocked through my body. _Don't hold back. Just say it._ "You define love in terms of admiration, respect, and attraction, right?"

And, suddenly, his face whitened. "Tris—"

"I think that you're _hot _and a _good fuck._" As I spoke, I started working my shirt off of my body. What little alcohol I'd had was already getting to my brain, but I didn't care. "I respect the _hell _out of you, for being so honest with me, and for treating me like I'm a _person_."

The next thing to come off was my shorts—as they fell to the ground, Peter visibly swallowed a lump in his throat. "Wait—"

"And all of that therapy _bullshit _that you do, all of the effort you made to become a better person?" I placed my fingers onto the lacy fabric of my panties. I pulled them down, ever so slightly—my heart raced a million miles an hour. "Hell, I just tried to mess around, and you wouldn't let me—not because you don't want to, but because you think you're _bad for me?"_ I shook my head, laughing.

_This isn't about to come out of my mouth. This isn't._

"Are you . . ." he trailed off, his eyes trained on mine. "You're saying that you—"

"I'm in love with you, Peter Hayes."

What he did next surprised me. He laughed.

"No you're not." I opened my mouth to interrupt, but was cut off by an abrupt slew of laughter. I spent a solid moment simply staring at him, trying to process what I saw. In a matter of seconds, he went from dead silent to borderline _hysterical._ Physical tears rolled down his cheeks as he laughed, the sound of it echoing through the apartment. And all I did was stand, stunned, until I finally returned to the present.

"Yes, I am."

"Bullshit."

More laughter. I felt my blood boil beneath my skin.

"_Peter,_" I said sternly, _"_I'm in _love _with you."

"But you're _not."_ His laughter came down to a few chortles. He waved his bottle in my face, smirking ever so slightly. "You don't love me. Christ, how could you? I'm a piece of shit."

"No you're not—"

"You know, I tried to fucking _rape _you two years ago—I wouldn't have stopped at just a boob grab. That wasn't my endgame, you know."

"Peter—"

"_Think about it, Tris." _He laughed, darkly. "_I'm fucked up. _I'm _bad for you,_ don't deny it."

"You're not that guy anymore," I said, sternly. "And you _know it._"

"Nobody loves me, Tris."

"Oh, get _over _yourself." I reached up, and cupped his face with my hands. He recoiled, so I grabbed on, harder. "Peter, _I forgive you. _Yeah, you put me through hell, but I'm over it."

I stroked his hairline. His eyes were suddenly glassy, and he couldn't bring himself to look at me.

"Hey—" I grabbed his jaw, and turned his head so he faced me. When I leaned in and kissed him, it wasn't like it usually was. It was close-mouthed, slow, and with all of the sweetness that had been missing in our relationship. I pulled away, and said quietly, "Don't you dare sell yourself short. Look at how far you've come. Hell, look at how far _we've _come."

He sighed, and looked me in the eye.

"You could do better, you know." He wrapped his arms around my waist. "It doesn't have to be me."

"You're seriously going to argue with me about this?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to be a good guy."

I sighed, staring into his striking green eyes. "You don't need to try. You are, Peter."

He shrugged, his eyes wandering my barely clothed body. "Maybe I'm getting there, but I've still got too much baggage. I _do _need to try—this doesn't come easily to me." He leaned in, and brought his lips up against mine. "But you're worth trying for."

My face broke out into a smile. In a matter of seconds, he was on top of me, and I had my back to the mattress. As he planted kisses on my lips, my neck, my collarbone, I thought back to the other times we'd been together, and it hadn't been like this. It hadn't been anything _close _to this_. _If anything, this was more similar to what I'd once had with Tobias.

And then I thought_, no. This is different._

This was hatred gone awry. This was hatred gone awry in the most extreme way possible—hatred (extreme, unconditional, searing _hatred)_ turned to love. Yeah, so it took us sex to get there, and along with the death of my first love. But _there we were,_ tangled in sheets, kissing each other in the most sincere way possible.

This wasn't easy. This wasn't Tobias. And this most certainly wasn't a distraction.

This was complicated, fierce, and free. This was the complete evolution of my former enemy. This was _love._

_It's taken you long enough to admit it, Tris._

* * *

"_Come to me,_

_Trust in your dream_

_Come on and rescue me_

_Yes I have known, I can be wrong_

_Maybe I'm too headstrong_

_Our love is_

_Madness"_

**~Madness** by Muse

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaaaaand that's a wrap, ladies and gentlemen! :D**

**I'll start by saying thank you guys so, SO much for all of the positive feedback this fic has received. I'm seriously so happy that you guys seemed to like this fic as well as the Peter/Tris pairing—thank you!**

**If you haven't read **_**Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, **_**that's the new Petris fic I have up and running. Also, make sure you go to my profile and vote which hiatus fic you'd most like me to continue.**

**I know I have a lot of Peter/Tris fans reading this, so I have a homework assignment, for those of you who are interested: WRITE SOME PETRIS. Post it, send me a PM saying "yooooo wrote ******insert fic name here****,**" and I'll give it a review!**

**It's tiresome to look at the Peter/Tris filter legitimately EVERY day to find stories to add to my community and to always come up short. Fourtris (god bless it) has a MAJOR monopoly in the Divergent fandom, so let's get some pairing diversity going, yeah?**

**I love you guys.**

**xx Nina**


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